Lost
by Hardly Here
Summary: John loves Punk. Punk loves John. Thing is, John's not like normal people, and his family isn't like normal families... and they most certainly do not approve of a city-man like Punk. John as in Morrison: Philligan!
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, no idea where I pulled this from. Just sorta... came out. Too strange? Perhaps. Oh well. **

***John as in Morrison***

*******

"You bring shame upon our clan."

The words rang out in the main hall, and John's entire body tensed at the harshness of them. He had been standing in the centre there for hours now, until finally a decision about his fate had been reached. For the present purpose the hall had been cleared of all furniture and finery, and now was instead filled with people, whose cold glares held John frozen to his spot. He wasn't bound – he didn't need to be. The perimeter of the room was taken up with family; cousins, uncles, aunts... brothers and sisters, all who were easily stronger than he. His time among the city people had made him weak.

The circle broke, and through the gap walked his father, cane in hand and fury evident in his gaze.

"You're a disgrace. Walking amongst the normal folk, performing little party tricks for them – have you no dignity?"

John stayed silent, cast his eyes to the ground. Speaking would only bring more punishment, and god knows there was already enough of it coming. Plus he worried for Phil.

His lover was in the hallway, guarded by two cousins. They weren't hostile to him... more looked upon him as a mentally retarded guest in their household.

"I don't blame the black-haired man." Continued his father, "We cannot expect them to know any better, but you!" His father drove the tip of his cane hard into John's chest, sending him stumbling back a few paces, "You should have known better."

Still no sound from John. Phil was terrified of seeing him like this; his usual cockiness had been replaced with a kind of timidity he'd never seen from the man. He shrank away at every harsh word that was thrown at him, and looked dangerously close to tears. Sure, he was overpowered but that had never thrown his defiance in the past.

"We need to teach you a lesson, boy. And afterwards, when the lesson has been learned you must break off your bond with the man. Never see him again."

John's eyes flickered up finally, wide and full of fear.

"Father no, please-"

The cane struck him in the side with a painful thwack and he gave a small cry of pain.

"Did I permit you to speak? Your time away from our people as led you to forget yourself, my son."

John's whimper stirred something in Phil, and he lunged forwards, trying to break through the line. It was madness, stupid beyond anything he'd ever tried before - a thick, meaty hand wrapped around his middle even before he'd reached the back pillar – but god, he had to try something.

"Stop hurting him you bastards!" He screamed, struggling in the cousin's iron grip, "John!" the hand clamped firmly over his mouth, and that was it. Completely overpowered.

_Fuck_, he thought, _fuck fuck shit fuckitty fuck._ God, they were so strong.

"You picked a feisty partner, I'll give you that," smirked his Father, "But he's the wrong one, boy. Apologise and end this madness."

John snarled and looked his father right in the eye.

"There will be no-one else for me, _father._"

The elder man seemed unfazed by this. He snapped his fingers, and four people darted out from the line.

"Restrain him." He ordered.

***

John had taken beatings before – hell, he did it for a living. But he'd forgotten how strong his father was although the sting of the cane across his back was a quick reminder. He tried hard not to scream at first; didn't want to give them the satisfaction, but in the end he found he couldn't help himself. Pain ripped through his entire core and thick, angry welts sprung up across his back. As the punishment progessed, they tore open and began to bleed.

Every now and again, the cane would change hands; John's head would be wrenched up and he would hear his father.

"This stops when you repent, son."

Always, the answer was the same.

"I will repent nothing for I have done nothing wrong."

Every time Phil heard this, his stomach would knot and he would sob quietly in the unforgiving grip of John's... family? He held the thought bitterly – they were no family if they did this to him.

By the third time this exchange happened, Phil's voice had joined that of his father's in urging him to give in. He'd promise anything to stop his lover from having to endure such torture, and by now he had no doubt that it would not stop until he did relent. They were going to kill him if this didn't stop soon.

Sweat glistened on his skin and mingled with the thin streams of blood that ran from the ugly lashes. His voice was hoarse from screaming, all he could manage now was weak gasps every time that cane came down on his flesh.

The sound of Phil's voice was the only thing that registered now. John was half-delirious in agony, and something was telling him to give it up. And it would be so easy, too... If only he knew the consequences of such an action.

The fifth time John's head was wrenched up by the hair, he broke. They could barely understand him, since his voice was parched and shaped the words awkwardly, but the meaning behind them was clear. His father's eyes narrowed.

"Beg."

John was released and sank to his knees – he lacked the strength to support himself – and bowed his head.

"Please father. I beg you." He whispered meekly, eyes never leaving the floor.

His father's huge black boot came crashing down on the side of his face by way of answer, crushing him to the floor with a small whimper. There he lay on the cold stone floor, bloodied and badly hurt, shivering... and to his eternal shame, crying softly. In the middle of the hall, for all his family to see.

His father shook his head in disgust.

"Oh, the shame of it all," he snarled, "Now, get rid of the _man."_

***

**That thing about how all my fics are named after the songs they're based on? Yeah. This one too ^_^ (However, it's a Michael Buble song. WTF SELF?????)**

**Phil Muse: You like it. Don't deny it.**

***embarrassment***

**Yeah... I do.**

**Phil Muse: *sleeps***


	2. Chapter 2

**Fire: Woooo you're back! Yes this is the same verse as Ace of Spades XD But I'm trying to make them work as separate stories too.**

**Thanks to everyone else who reviewed, and many apologies for the delays in updating (especially to Aree who seemed rather insistent on the update XD) – You guys are awesome!**

"Where is he?" Phil pounced on John's father, grabbing him by the collar of his tunic, "Tell me."

He plucked Phil from him as easily as if he were some kind of small animal.

"He no longer has a hold on you. You are free to come and go as you wish, as our hospitality allows but remember that if you tempt him, it is he that will be punished."

"You didn't answer my question."

"There is no rule stating that I have to."

Phil resisted the nagging urge to punch this self-righteous asshole in the face, and instead allowed him to keep walking.

It took him three days to find John. The household was oddly kind to him –no, not kind. Civil. When he visited the kitchens he was fed and when he felt like resting, any bedroom in the immense mansion was open for him to use. No-one spoke to him or even looked him directly in the eye. For that he was somewhat grateful, but he was lonely.

It was the crying that alerted him. A gentle sound, coming from a room on the top floor. He would have missed it had he not been listening for such a thing. The door was – strangely enough - open, and upon entering, he found John attached to the wall by several heavy chains, watched over by one of the younger cousins. No-one seemed to have bothered to clean him up - his back was a mess of dried blood – and he was simply slumped on the ground, weeping quietly.

"Do you understand?" The cousin spoke softly. Phil frowned at him. He was a young man... seventeen? Certainly no more than eighteen.

"What is there to understand?" he snarled "His dad doesn't like me, so he beats up his own son so badly he can barely move-"

"He's crying." The boy was clearly confused, "He struggles until he exhausts himself, and then he cries, and then he struggles again. That is not the way."

"What the hell _is_ the way then?" Phil drew slowly closer to John, and when there was no hint that this might be forbidden, gathered the weeping man into his arms.

"Phil-" John clutched frantically at him, clinging to the man he loved.

"Everyone must obey the House Master." Stated the Cousin, but found he was being ignored.

"I'm going to get you out of here," whispered Phil. He held John as gently as he could, mindful of his injuries. All he got in response was a soft whine, but the way his lover clung to him so desperately was enough. There was still so much he didn't understand about the situation, but those thoughts slipped his mind for the moment in favour of offering what little comfort he was able to.

"Get away from him," Hissed a voice from the doorway. Phil looked up, but did not make any indication he was going to move.

"You both exist under my roof because I allow it. You-" he rounded on Phil, "Will abide by them or leave."

"What about John?"

"He remains here. If he disobeys me he will be punished. I have already told you this."

"Go fuck yourself."

John's father raised his hand, and Phil felt the fragile body in his arms shudder, heard a pained whimper.

"He that spareth the rod hateth his son," he grinned, making a twisting gesture. John began to seize violently, so much so that he broke out of Phil's embrace and slithered to the ground. The spasms caused the poor man's limbs to flail about uncontrollably, and continued for several more minutes until his father flicked his wrist, and it stopped.

"Bastard." Growled Phil, moving over to him again.

"No." Panted John, "No, don't..." he began to shuffle away.

"What?"

"You have to leave. This isn't going to work."

"No."

"Leave while they're still willing to send you back."

"No-"

"You've seen how powerful my father is."

Phil was crying. Shit, when had that started? He couldn't cry now. Had to hold it together.

"I..." He swallowed, "I'll come back for you."

John's father smirked.

"I sincerely doubt that."

And with another flick of his wrist, Phil found himself being squeezed through a hole in the air. He tried to say something, give a last message to John. Hell, even just _look_ at him one last time but he was suddenly on the footpath outside their house, and their final frantic exchange of words was already beginning to fade.


	3. Chapter 3

**Fire: Yeah, it was from the bible ^_^ I like using bible imagery in my fics... Absolutely stoked that you're liking this, it means a lot : )**

**Takers_dark_lover: HOW DID YOU KNOW?????**

**Magically Malicious: I hope that was a good wow, lol XD**

**Cotopaxi: All in good time ^_^ and btw are you by any chance a Mars Volta fan?**

*******

Phil had never felt so helpless in his entire life. He had no idea how to get back to the mansion, which meant he had no idea how to get to John. The house was maddeningly quiet without him. Phil wandered about aimlessly for hours, beginning small tasks, then finding himself drawn back to his own thoughts. After a while, he bailed and decided to make the five-hour drive to the Hardy's. They were the only ones who wouldn't immediately call the special doctors on him. At least while he was driving he could try and clear his head and not be surrounded by reminders of what was missing.

Thoughts of what they might be doing to his lover tortured him through the trip. Was he still chained up there – and what of his wounds? They could get infected... were they feeding him?

He blasted music from the stereo in an attempt to soother himself – it had always helped in the past, but now it had no meaning. When you spend enough time with someone, everything holds some kind of memory of them.

Naturally when Phil finally arrived he was a nervous wreck. It was luck that he _had _been blasting music, or else he might not have been able to leave the car. Jeff came out to see what the noise was, and found Phil sitting in his car in their driveway.

"Hey!" He tapped at the window, and Phil blinked owlishly at him.

"Phil! Can you hear me man?" Jeff opened the door and waved a hand in front of his face.

"Yeah..." croaked Phil, "I'm – just give me a sec-"

He hadn't stopped for the whole drive, and it seemed like his whole body had cramped into position. He gingerly unclamped his hands from the steering wheel, then eased himself out of the car. It seemed that his legs had forgotten their job, however, because he crashed to the ground.

"What's going on?" Matt jogged up to them, took a moment to assess the situation, then smiled sadly.

"Jeff, why don't you go inside and make us some coffee; I'll take care of this."

He slipped a hand around Phil's waist and began to guide him slowly inside. He could tell that something terrible had happened to him, but he didn't want Phil to have to tell them yet – at least not until he was sitting comfortably with a hot drink inside him. The poor thing was trembling.

***

John had to cleanse his mind. That's how his father had put it. Remove every physical distraction from himself, leaving only his mind, and the throbbing pain of his wounds. Inside the box, there was no light. No room for movement. No sound.

They had seen fit to give him water before they put him in – after the second time he passed out. For that he was somewhat grateful.

There was nothing he could do, and so he meditated. He could still sense Phil; they'd spent too much time together for him to lose that connection, and so he clung to it. He was too far away to be able to reach the other man's thoughts, but he held the feel of him close, and meditated on that.

***

"For a few days, John was kinda on edge. He just went about like there was someone following him. I nearly went to Vince about it a few times – it was like he had a stalker or something. He started driving around for ages before we'd actually get somewhere... Kept looking over his shoulder and stuff. Then, on Thursday we were walking to the arena..."

Phil sighed and set the now-empty mug of coffee down on the table.

"It was like when John takes me to the palace of wisdom... One second we were in the parking lot, then I took a step and we were in a hallway. This huge, massive hallway, and these people surrounded him, and he just stood there. Like he knew what was happening, and he wasn't going to do anything about it."

"It was horrible." He continued, "You know he'd never back down from a fight. But he just stood there, and they – oh god, they beat him. His father appeared with his huge fucking cane, and _beat_ the _living shit_ out of his own son, so badly he could barely stand up."

Phil drew in a shaky breath, and brushed the hair from his face.

"It was all to make him swear he'd never see me again. His family don't seem to like the idea of him being with another man... 'specially one that isn't... like him."

"You mean, with all those weird powers and shit?" asked Matt, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah... And he's with them now, and I have no idea what's going on. He could be dead..."

Jeff grabbed Phil's shaking hands and held them in his own.

"Phil, I know you're not going to like this, but I think I know who can help you."

Phil looked up sharply.

"No."

"There's no-one else who would know what's going on."

"I am _not_ going back to that bastard," spat Phil.

Matt scooted a little closer, "We'll be there – he won't be able to try anything on you."

"I don't want to."

"Oh come on, you remember he's not going to do anything to you now that you're with-" Jeff's voice trailed off as he realised his error.

"Yeah. Exactly." Sighed Phil, "Now that John isn't here, there's nothing stopping Mark from coming on to me."

***

When the time came for John to be let out, he toppled onto the ground in a small heap. His wounds had still not been attended to, his back was still a bloodied mess. He could barely move for stiffness, and he was filthy, hungry and terrified. The light burned his eyes, and so he couldn't see the gentle hands which scooped him up and carried him to one of the washrooms, where a hot bath had been drawn for him.

"The house master is out for the day," said a kindly voice. Warm water stung the welts in his back, and John hissed in protest. Slowly, as he adjusted to the freedom, and to the light he turned around to look at who had let him out.

"We'll get you cleaned up, then I'll see what I can do about these cuts."

"M-Michael?" whispered John

The hand, which had been dabbing away the blood found his own, and squeezed it momentarily.

"You always were the foolish one of the family, brother."

***

**Okay, Fire's review gave me an idea, so this has been changed around. Originally Michael was just meant to be an original character, but now no. Making him the Miz is better. So ta!**


	4. Chapter 4

**There is actually a story that comes before ace of spades and this, about when Phil and JoMo met. The old version of it's on my old account – Milady2222 (which is no longer mine) as 'A Night Without Sleep.' But it's getting taken down and updated. I think I might put this on hold until that one is up again, just so that it makes sense. I wasn't expecting it to fit, but it did, and so!**

It was no secret that Phil and Mark did not get along. The two avoided contact with each other at all times; Vince no longer put them in storylines together, and a stage hand who had once put them in the same locker room mysteriously disappeared overnight. Of course, Mark would have preferred the exact opposite situation; when he opened the door to Phil and the two Hardy's his expression turned immediately from one of confusion to one of barely disguised lust.

"Philip." He grunted, "What brings you here?"

Phil twitched at the sound of his full name.

"I... We have a situation." He steeled himself for his next comment.

"I need your help."

The older man grinned and licked his lips.

"Well then. Come right in," he said sweetly, holding the door open. He scowled when Matt and Jeff followed, one on either side of Phil.

_Your little friends aren't going to be able to stay with you forever._

John let out a quiet whimper of pain as Michael pulled the bandages tight.

"If father asks, you did it yourself." Said his younger brother.

"I know. I would never implicate you."

Michael smiled and began to help John into one of his old shirts.

"I don't know what father is going to do with you. He said-" he paused to tie up the front of the tunic, "That is... I heard him talking, and it sounds like..."

He paused, trying to search for the right words.

"You can tell me; I don't think anything he could do is going to frighten me anymore."

"Oh trust me, it's bad."

John fiddled with the hem of his tunic. There was only one thing terrible enough

"He's not... He's not going to disown me is he?"

There was an awkward silence between them, which was answer enough. So that was it. He was to give up what remaining privileges he had in the household and become nothing. Forever.

The severity of it was too much for John – he broke. He had thought crying in front of the rest of his family was humiliating enough, but now he was crying in front of his younger brother. His face flushed and he tried to turn away, but Michael stopped him.

"Father has a few hours yet before he gets back – don't feel ashamed."

He let John bury his face in his shoulder and cry out his troubles, just like he had done for him when they were children. As odd as it felt, he knew he was going to have to start looking out for his older brother.

Unfortunately for Mark, the Hardy's showed no sign that they were going to move. They sat on either side of Phil while he recounted his story, wary of every movement the Undertaker made. At the end of his tale, as expected, Mark's eyes narrowed.

"You mean your pretty boy isn't here to save your skin anymore?"

Phil shrank away slightly.

"No. But I need to get him back." Memories flashed across the back of his mind unheeded. Memories of what Mark had tried to do to him... and suddenly their predicament seemed like a very, very stupid idea.

"Well, I'll gladly help you, Philip. I'll have my own terms, but I know how to get you where you need to go."

Images of those dreams Mark had gorged him with, the horrific images his sleep had been plagued with in the past all began flooding back. Mark was a creep. The only reason he knew how to move between their world and John's was because he had previously forced John to show him. Very painfully. What were they doing here?

"We should go," he said softly, not daring to look anyone in the eye.

"Now now," Chuckled Mark, "From what I've heard John's been taking a lot of punishment because of you. Don't you think it's a bit selfish that you're going home because you're too scared of the big bad Marky?"

Phil said nothing; kept his eyes cast to the floor.

"Well, you're free to come and go as you please. I have things to attend to. You know I'll know if you try any funny business in my home."

He made to get up, taking just enough time so that as he straightened, Phil broke.

"Okay. Help us."

"Say please."

"Mark, _please_." He started trembling again, "_Please_ help us."

"With gladness." Mark rose and fixed them with a faint smirk, eye which somehow betrayed all of his intentions. Somehow Phil knew he wasn't going to like Mark's 'own terms.'

**Fire: Go give your brother a swift kick up the rear end for me XD Thanks for the idea about he mizz by the way – I changed the last chapter a bit because of it.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, first up before anyone (*cough, Aree*) starts to get excited, I didn't write the sex scene. That was the wonderful, marvellous, fabulous, beautiful, talented Miss Kimberley, otherwise known on here as KimberAnnBRAND. 'Cos I just couldn't do it. But she could, and very well too, so it's there!**

**I personally am astounded at how well she managed to fit it in to the rest of the story.**

**Also, there's the warning: this chapter contains sex.**

Mark leaned forward, and motioned for Phil to do the same.

"My terms are these: I will help you bring your boyfriend back if you give yourself to me... for one night."

Phil tensed visibly, and fell back onto the couch. The Hardy's exchanged nervous glances, before Matt spoke up.

"He's not going to sleep with you, you sick _fuck_!"

Mark raised his palms, "Hey, I'm giving him what he wants, he has to give me what I want. It won't mean anything. It's just... to satisfy me."

There was silence then, as three minds worked to try and find some way out of this situation. But really, there was no-one else who would be able to take them back to that elusive place. Phil's fingers drummed uneasily along his jaw.

"I..."

"Phil, you're not seriously considering this are you? If John finds out..."

"I'm going to tell him straight out anyway. Because if I don't, I'm never going to see him again."

Mark chuckled, "You would so willingly give up your body to me? Keep in mind we don't know what's happened to John. He could be-"

"Don't want to hear it." Said Phil dryly, "Let's get this over with."

Phil closed his eyes gently as he took a shaky breath. He heard Mark shooing Matt and Jeff out of the room, before the deep rumble of the door closing. The ravenette's snapped open and met with the sight of the elder turning around. Unsure olive eyes met with lusty dark hazel and Phil felt his gut clench, but he knew he needed to do it, no matter how disgusting and degrading it may be.  
" Are you waiting for the moon to rise?" Mark's words snapped Phil out of his daze. "Or do you not realize that you need to be naked for sex to work?"  
Phil glared over at Mark, but still obeyed. Shakily he shed his clothes into a puddle on the floor, until he was left in just a pair of black boxers. Phil's hands shook even more as he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of the undergarments. The ravenette glanced up and felt his face start to warm when he realized Mark had already stripped and was staring down at him expentantly. Deciding to just get it over with Phil sucked in a breath and pushed the boxers down to his ankles before stepping out of them.  
"Took you long enough." Mark let out a breathy chuckle, earning him a glare from Phil. "Don't give me that look- and get up against the wall, would'ja? No- the other way."  
Phil frowned at Mark's orders, he had started to press his back up against the wall, and apparently that wasn't what the older man wanted. He rested his cheek against the wall as he waited for Mark to come over and get it over with. Phil let his mind wander to thoughts of John... he hoped the brunette would be okay.

"Stop thinking about_ him _already, because right now it won't be him fucking you." The sudden noise caused Phil to jump slightly.

"Don't tell me what the hell to think, and why do you think I'd be thinking about John anyways?" He glanced over his eyes and caught Mark's eyes in a fierce glare.  
" You're easy to read Phillip." The heavy sounds of footsteps got closer and closer to Phil until he felt Mark's breath on his neck. "And I suggest you heed my advice, unless you want to associate _this_ with your boyfriend."

Phil felt the ghost of fingertips brush across his side, then a sudden pop noise of something being opened.

'At least he's kind enough to use lube...' The ravenette thought semi-bitterly.

Suddenly Phil felt something brush across his entrance and realized with a sick sense of surprise that while Mark was nice enough to use lubrication, he wasn't kind enough to prep the younger boy. A scream ripped through the air as the elder man pushed himself into Phil with no warning. Apparently lube was as nice as Mark could get, because he didn't give Phil a second to get used to the pain, just started to thrust in and out.

Tears started to run down the ravenette's face, but he bit his lip to prevent himself from making any sound. That would just make Mark happier.  
Mark groaned loudly as he started to pound into the smaller man faster, running his nails along Phil's side, leaving oozing trails of red in their wake. The olive eyed man brought his fist up to his mouth, biting down hard on it to try and keep quiet, he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing his pain. But, by the sounds that Mark was making, his pain wouldn't last too much longer.  
Suddenly Mark started to piston in out of Phil so fast the younger man felt like he was experencing an earthquake, until finally Mark let out an unearthly moan and Phil felt himself filled up. After a few seconds of deep breathing and panting Mark finally pulled out. Phil felt his body go limp against the wall, his behind sore enough that he could already tell there was blood.  
Suddenly he felt a damp cloth hit his back.  
"Clean up with that then get dressed," The smaller man turned around on shaky legs and was surprised to see Mark already cleaned and dressed. "I'll go get your friends."

Phil started to gingerly clean himself of the white streaks and blood, listening to the door slam shut again as Mark got Jeff and Matt.

"We're going with you."

Mark rolled his eyes at the younger Hardy.

"You have no idea of the kind of strain it takes to bring other people through with you, do you?"

"You made John do it," snarled Phil

"Shut up or you don't go through at all. Close your eyes."

Phil obeyed silently, and they walked a few paces in what seemed like an aimless direction. There was an odd squeezing sensation, then they were through. The white, high-ceilinged corridors of the mansion appeared, and the temperature dropped somewhat. A passing servant nodded a greeting at them and hurried on his way.

Mark leaned against the wall in attempt to catch his breath, and Phil continued along the corridor. He didn't really care about the older man at the moment. There was no attempt to follow him, so he left him behind completely. He scanned the corridors for a familiar face, but it seemed that the members of the household were endless. He recognised one cousin who had assisted in delivering John's beating. Not really a good candidate for talk. A couple of women passed him, talking quietly between themselves. They didn't even spare him a glance.

"He'll be in the kitchens," whispered a younger servant, who scurried past fearfully.

The kitchens were on the first floor, from memory. He didn't like them – they were always working there, and the place was filled with steam and the stench of strange, foreign vegetable, stewing meat and the sweat of the servants who worked there. As he entered, he found that nothing had changed. There was a sickly tang in the air, and he wondered what sort of food the people here ate. Last time he had been there he had eaten nothing but bread, and with good reason. The smell was even more sickening than last time.

He watched a pair of old men plate up a strange, thick yellow soup; another group of ladies were making odd balls of vegetables. The washing up crew was hard at work down the other end, and one skinny young man was scrubbing furiously at the floor, the hair swinging about his face in sweaty strands. It was hard to tell if John was down here – they all looked exactly the same. It was as if their personalities had drained from their faces, leaving only the features. They were barely people. John couldn't possibly be one of these... things.

Phil wandered the house like he had done a few days ago, borrowing a random bedroom to rest in when he could no longer drag his feet along the carpet. The manision was more like a small town – and just when he thought he had been everywhere, he would find a new corridor, another set of stairs that led somewhere new. He took to snagging food from the dining room when no-one was looking – there was no way he was going to go back to the kitchens after what he had seen. On the third day, Michael found him. Rumours had spread through the household of John's lover who had finally returned to retrieve him, and it was only a matter of time before the housemaster dealt with him.

Phil was sneaking around the back of the dining room where the meals were placed on trays, and was about to snag something from the bread basket when he heard a voice from behind him.

"You're welcome to dine with us, you know. So long as you're not interfering, we're sworn to be hospitable to all... guests."

Phil jumped and hit his head on the food trolley, and heard a laugh.

"Who the hell are you?" He turned to find a man standing in front of him. His confident stance suggested that he was a part of the family, but he dressed a little differently. For starters, he was wearing a fedora and a normal shirt, as opposed to the odd, loose-fitting tunics most of the men wore. And he was smiling. Phil didn't realise how much he had missed that expression since being in the mansion, and found himself beginning to smile as well.

"Michael. I'm... I'm John's younger brother. Although we're not allowed to call him that anymore."

"What?"

"My father, although-" He glanced about uneasily, "it pains me to admit such a tie – has disowned him. He no longer has a name."

"That's stupid."

"It's cruel."

Phil raised an eyebrow at this statement, and Michael took him by the hand.

"Perhaps it would be best if I showed you."

He led Phil up various flights of stairs, to the top storey of the house where all the bedrooms were. There were a few cleaning people dotted along the corridor, but no-one Phil could recognise.

"They all look the same to me."

"Yes, that's the problem. Philip, do you realise how long you've been gone for?"

"A few days-"

"More like a few _months._"

A servant hurried past them with a bucket, and brushed Phil's leg by accident.

"My apologies, master... uh..." Terrified brown eyes flickered up towards them, then quickly returned to the floor.

"Sorry... sorry," Another servant hurried past them, kicking the frightened man out of the way and making him spill his bucket. Michael glanced at Phil, who seemed to have frozen to the spot.

"I recognise him..." he whispered, "I saw him scrubbing the floors in the kitchen. I didn't realise..." He fell to his knees next to the servant, who was trying frantically to clean up the mess. He grabbed the man's wrists, forcing him to look up but he wouldn't meet his eyes.

"John, look at me."

"M-m-master, please... Don't..." He refused to look up, and didn't try to struggle out of Phil's grip.

"John."

"Not allowed..." He cleared his throat, which was rusty with disuse, "Not allowed... No name."

Phil eased the scrubbing brush out of John's hand, and flung it aside.

"It's alright, John. Everything's going to be okay. I'm here now." He tried to draw John in closer, and John complied freely. He allowed himself to be handled like some kind of rag doll, totally unresponsive.

"You're hurting him," said Michael quietly, "He's injured, don't make him move too much."

"He's only injured because he's a disgusting piece of filth and needs to be taught manners." Said a voice coldly to their right.

"Father," began Michael, but he was shushed with a swish of his father's infamous cane.

"Ah, the creature believes he is above our guest, is that correct?" said the father smoothly. Phil was holding John in his lap, so his head was a little higher. It seemed insignificant, but the point of the can was placed in between John's shoulderblades, and drove him into the ground. John didn't make a sound, he simply allowed himself to be knocked into the puddle of soapy water his upturned bucket had created.

"Now you're all dirty. Do you want to be scrubbed clean again?"

"N-no..."

"What was that?"

"No, housemaster."

"Good. Continue with your work and don't associate with the guest, or I will make it happen."

His father stepped over his limp form and continued on his way. Phil was still kneeling on the floor, speechless with shock at what had just happened. He had expected John to fight his father when he came, not lie there and take the abuse. But then another though clicked in his head. Time passed strangely here, and Michael had said it had been _months_ since Phil had left. Perhaps there was only so much even John could take. He made to move towards his love, but Michael placed a hand firmly on his shoulder, holding him back.

"Don't. When father says scrubbed clean, he means that the other servants take him to the bath and scrub him until he bleeds."

"You mean I can't even speak to him?"

Michael shook his head.

"I think we should go for a short walk. Before father broke him completely, he used to say you enjoyed walking."

A walk sounded like just the thing to clear his mind, and so he allowed Michael to guide him around for a while. He really was a nice fellow, and really didn't fit in with the rest of the household. It turned out that he had been taking care of his older brother, as much as he could without being noticed. He healed his injuries when it wouldn't tax him too much, and fed him on the sly. Otherwise, John would probably have starved to death by now. No-one really seemed to care about his existence, unless it involved keeping him away from Phil and his 'kind.'

Together they racked their brains for a way of getting John out without having him taken back by his father, but as Phil discovered, the father was the housemaster for one reason only – he was the most powerful of them all.

After a couple of hours, they ran into Mark, who seemed to be idling away his time in the library.

"Oh shit, I totally forgot-" gasped Phil

"Well, I found John yesterday and after seeing him, I'm not surprised." Said Mark mildly. He snapped his book shut and rubbed his hand wearily over his eyes,

"I can't imagine what you're going through right now. He's really in a bit of a state."

Phil was a little taken aback, "Uh... yeah he is."

Mark shook his head and chuckled to himself.

"What?"

"You are so fucking stupid." Said Mark, making his way towards them, "So fucking _stupid_."

"Why, Mark?" Sighed Phil

"Have you two fucked?"

Michael's eyes widened, and he looked at Mark incredulously.

"You mean _mated_? Have they _mated?_ They're both men, of course they haven't-"

"Yeah, why?" Asked Phil, ignoring the surprised squeaks of John's younger brother.

"Are you the bitch or him?"

"Er... It kind of works both ways... Um, Mark, why?"

"If you two have... _mated-_" He snorted with laughter, "It means you have a claim on him. You can take him with you."

Phil stared at Mark, and his heart began to flutter.

"You mean it?"

"How does that even _work?_" Spluttered Michael, "Where does he put his...You know..?"

Phil stared at him flatly.

"That's _disgusting!_"


	6. Chapter 6

**Fire: whooooaaaa that is officially the longest review I have ever gotten in my life. I do actually separate the scenes with three asterixes but seems to be taking them off. Hmpf. My Phil Muse is over crying in the corner because Morro has left to RAW :(  
You reviews always give me so many ideas... XD thank you!**

**(As always thank you to everyone else who reviewed, it's just that I can't reply to fire directly since she don't have no account, yo.)**

**Miss Kimberley: Car boot. Light globe. Biscuits. Lollies.**

**X**

The walk to the main hall was silent as Phil rehearsed what he was going to say to John's father. He had never been so terrified in his life – John's Father was an intimidating man, and they had already seen what happened when he disapproved of something.

"Just in here," said Michael quietly.

"If you are telling the truth... there is no way Father can refuse you."

"Aren't you coming in?"

"You go in and you ring the bell on your own." Said Mark, "This has nothing to do with us."

Phil lingered in the doorway a little longer, as if waiting for someone to go with him.

"The kid's going to be in enough trouble as it is for helping you," said Mark, giving him a shove, "don't make it worse."

When Phil entered the hall, all the memories came flooding back, those arms restraining him, keeping him away from his love; John's terrible look of pain and deafeat, those terrible screams...

He plastered a look of defiance onto his face and yanked the cord to the bell three times.

X

"Who calls?"

John's father knew very well who was calling – he was standing in front of Phil right now, but he rather enjoyed the way his grand entrance put the smaller man off.

"I... I wish to exercise my claim over J... Over the one who used to be called John."

The father gave a cold chuckle. Pathetic.

"Oh yes, and what kind of claim might that be?"

"We have mated. His life is mine."

The father's expression darkened, and he snapped his fingers, causing John to appear. He was on his knees, but tried to sink lower into the ground when he realised where he was.

"Come here." The father seized him by the hair and wrenched him upwards, then grabbed his chin and dug his fingers into the flesh of his face, concentrating hard. John accepted the treatment almost placidly.

"Well what do you know. You kind never cease to disgust me." He spat, releasing John and watching him crumple back to the floor.

"Take him. Although he's not much use to anyone anymore, except for scrubbing floors." He sighed theatrically.

"Perhaps this is your end of the punishment."

Phil ignored him and rushed to John's side.

"Can you stand?" he asked softly.

Wide brown eyes flickered upwards curiously. He looked so frightened and so innocent, it was frightening. Phil eased him up as gently as he could, but it quickly became clear that John was no longer accustomed to walking, or even standing upright.

"The nameless ones aren't allowed to stand like the rest of the family." Said the father with a causal flick of his wrist. He disappeared, leaving Phil to instead scoop John up into his arms. It was easier than it should have been, and it scared Phil that he could physically feel the effects of the other man's torture. The poor thing felt so fragile.

Michael ran forward to greet them when they exited.

"Give him to me," he said, holding his hands out for his brother. Phil hesitated though – he didn't want to let go just yet.

"He needs whatever I can do for him; he's in a lot of pain." Michael held his older brother tenderly, cooing to him softly in a language Phil did not recognise. John seemed to relax into the touch, and a little of the colour returned to his ashen cheeks.

"That's the best I can do without being noticed... Take care of him, Phil. It's going to be hard."

"I know... he doesn't even remember me" said Phil.

"You're all breaking my heart, but we've gotta get going." Growled Mark.

"True. Father isn't going to be happy... Remember me." Said Michael with a sad smile, touching his hand to his chest.

"Don't doubt it," said Phil, as the world around him melted away into Mark's loungeroom.

"Wow, that was fast," Matt and Jeff were sitting on the couch, each about to drink a cup of coffee.

"Who the fuck said you could use my kitchen?" asked Mark sharply.

"Er... hospitality?"

"Do I look like a hospitable person to you?"

Jeff was about to reply, but John began to whine and clutch at Phil's shirt, drawing all eyes to him.

"Shit," breathed Matt, "What'd they _do_ to him?"

"Phil..." mewled John, "Phil..."

"I'm here,"

"Phil's coming to get me,' he said, with such innocent, childlike conviction it broke Phil's heart."

"Hey John." Said Mark, "I fucked Phil while you were gone. Now you and those goddamn brothers get out of my house or I'll send you all back to that goddamn mansion and see what happens."

John's eyes widened, and his jaw worked silently as he tried in vain to find something to say to this.

"Bastard," hissed Phil, holding John close. "Hush, don't pay any attention to him."

"I love Phil." Murmured John.

"I love you too," Said Phil, carrying him out the door flanked by the two Hardys.

X

_Bed. I am in bed._

_It's kind of comfortable. I haven't been in bed for a long time. Always that cupboard. Or the floor._

_Can't stretch out properly. Hurts. Everything hurts._

_Need Phil. _

John reached out with his mind for the last scrap of comfort he had kept with him during his ordeal – his mental link with Phil. He could still feel the other man, but now he was close. Closer than he had thought; the link was strong. It felt good that he was near. He clung to the link tightly and opened it wide.

X

They were back home, and Phil was making some soup for John. Hopefully the other man was sleeping, or at least resting. He needed it.

Suddenly, he could feel John like all those times their minds had melded, and he welcomed the familiar sensation. But with it suddenly came a torrent of agony, ripping through the entire core of his being. The muscles in his back seized up, and he crashed to the floor, twitching. God, when had it become so cold? It was freezing, and he didn't have anything to cover himself with... and he was scared, always so scared that he would do something wrong, because he was bound to do something wrong, he was so worthless and filthy... And hungry. His stomach knotted painfully with hunger, but there was nothing he could do about it because... and he was bleeding. It hurt to move, it hurt to stand, it hurt to crawl, and he was so tired, too... so exhausted he could just – _get a grip, Phil._

A small wave of nausea washed over him, but it passed along with the attack, leaving Phil lying gasping on the kitchen tiles.

_Perhaps this is your end of the punishment._


	7. Chapter 7

Phil was dimly aware of someone calling his name. There was also something damp and blessedly cool resting against his forehead, but to counter that welcoming emotion was something slapping at his face.

He cracked one eye open, and took in a blur of colours.

"Wake up!"

"Mmph?"

"Phil!"

Jeff's worried face came slowly into focus.

"Huh?"

"Shit, we were so worried, Matt found you on the kitchen floor, you were delirious. You kept mumbling something about John-"

"John!" Phil sprang up off the couch and managed to make it to the door before black spots started dancing in front of his eyes, then his knees started to buckle.

"Whoa, stood up too fast," smiled Jeff, sliding an arm around his friend's shoulders to steady him.

"Is he... did you..."

"Matt's fed him, if that's what you mean. It was a bit, er, overcooked by the time we got here, but John didn't seem to mind."

"Of course he didn't mind, he's starving." Phil eased out of Jeff's grip and bolted to John's room.

There was his angel, curled up awkwardly under the covers. Just sleeping.

He had the sheets scrunched up beneath his chin, and his whole body was in something of a tangle. He didn't seem to be able to stretch out.

Phil sat beside him on the bed, and John jerked awake immediately and began to stammer out an apology for falling asleep. He tried to clamber out of the bed, but Phil pushed him back down firmly.

"You need to rest, love. Don't move around too much."

John froze and instead lay deathly still, brown eyes wide with terror.

"Not quite that... Oh, love." Phil climbed into the bed beside him and wrapped his arms around John's thin waist. As he expected, the skin was a little too cool, and clammy. He was twitching at random, and as Phil's hands explored his partner's back, he noted that the muscles were bunched and knotted in a way that must have been terribly painful.

"Does this hurt?" Phil pressed lightly into the skin. John nodded silently.

"Come on, let's roll you over." He cooed. He began to roll John over onto his stomach, and tried to get him to straighten out a bit. He whimpered slightly in pain, but eventually he managed to lie flat on his stomach in bed. Phil then began to carefully work his way down his lover's back, kneading out the painful spots a month of crouching had inflicted on the poor man. At first John trembled madly, fearing that this might be some new form of punishment. Phil's thumbs digging into the most painful spots did make it seem so. However as Phil worked his way down, he started to relax into the touch, even welcome it.

"Why are you so nice to me?" asked John softly. His shoulders tensed for a blow he was sure would come swiftly, but nothing happened.

"Because I love you, John."

John gasped.

"No! You mustn't! That name is gone."

He was utterly terrified of his own name. Even the way he spoke had changed completely. So far Phil hadn't even found the barest scrap of hope that something of the old John was still there. Not mind, manner, nor his broken body was the same. John wriggled painfully onto his back and looked up at Phil once more with those wide, frightened eyes.

"John," Phil spoke the name a little more firmly this time, and placed his finger lightly on John's nose.

"Your name is John."

He squirmed uncomfortably and shook his head.

"Come on, there's nothing to be scared of. It's just a name."

"Housemaster-"

"We're not in there anymore!" John flinched at the irritation which laced Phil's voice.

"Sorry. But you're not with your father anymore. We're home."

He still didn't understand.

"Home?"

"Yes. This is your home. It's me, it's Phil." He lightly traced John's collarbone and kissed him lightly, feeling the younger man shudder beneath him.

"Please don't... I already have someone," he pleaded.

"John, I _am_ your someone."

"Stop it-"

"Love-"

"_Stop playing games with my head!_"

John was in tears as he screamed up at Phil. He snarled defiantly for a second, before realising what he had done. He then began to shuffle backwards off the bed, toppling to the floor and then scrambling under it with a whimper.

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry," Phil could hear him muttering.

"John, stop that."

The muttering was replaced by shallow, panicked breaths.

"Come out, please?"

Now John was confused. It was not a command, it was a request.

"John?"

"S-stop calling me that." He whispered.

Phil scooted off the bed and knelt beside it. A pair of pained brown eyes stared back at him from the shadows. The fleeting moment of defiance he had just witnessed told him that somewhere in there, his John was still alive. Buried under all the shit his father had dealt him, but he was there.

Phil leaned in and reached out for John. He gasped and shut his eyes immediately, starting up that awful chant again.

"Phil's coming for me. Phil's coming for me..."

His breath hitched when Phil cupped his cheek, brushing away the stray strands of hair from his face.

"John - okay. You know how to find Phil?"

A nod.

"I can feel him when he's there. With my mind."

Phil braced himself.

"Well then find him."


	8. Chapter 8

John closed his eyes, one work on his mind.

_Phil_

Only is wasn't a word. It was a thought, a feeling, an emotion. The essence of his lover captured in his mind; and he reached out for it, caught it, held it tight.

_Phil_

He was close. Very close. So close he could almost reach out and touch...

_Phil_

Cool fingertips brushed Phil's cheek, then cupped his chin. John became faintly aware of someone screaming.

X

_Where am I?_

Drip. Drip. Drip. The clink of chain against brick.

His arms burned and ached from the force of being held above his head.

_Look up._

His arms were chained to the wall above his head. The coarse brickwork grated along his shredded back. He was panting, gasping for breath, and yet there never seemed to be enough air in his lungs.

He felt every droplet of sweat as it trickled down his back, making his raw wounds smart and tickling his skin. He tugged unconsciously at the chains, needing to somehow soothe the stinging. His hair was damp, and stuck to his face in tangled strands.

_Look down._

Phil looked down, and was confused to find the skin on his torso smooth and unadorned with tattoos and rippling with muscle. It wasn't his own body.

_This is John._

The musty air grew even harder to breathe in as Phil began to panic. His arms were burning from being held up for so long, and he was so tired his legs were about to give way and leave him hanging there. And the goddamn sweat pouring off him was only making everything worse.

It was cold. That wasn't a good sign.

Phil drew another laboured gasp of air, and tried to get his bearings. He was in a basement. Obviously back in the mansion.

The clatter of footsteps on walled concrete.

"Well boy, have you thought about your actions?"

Phil felt himself respond, although he himself had no control.

"yes housemaster."

Then light.

X

Phil's eyes flew open, and he was once again on the floor in his bedroom. He gulped at the air, grateful that he could breathe freely once again. Everything was okay, he was back, safe and... strangely warm.

He looked down to see that John was now half-lying across his lap, arms wrapped firmly, desperately around his waist. He was whispering something.

Phil petted him, enjoying the feel of those silken threads sliding through his fingers. It was more o an effort to lift his arm than it should have been, but hearing John sigh contentedly and snuggle further into his arms was well worth it.

"You were screaming," said John.

"I... was in a strange place."

"I hurt you." He spoke softly, afraid that his voice might break, that he might start crying again.

"Not your fault."

"But I did it."

Phil sighed, too drained to argue further. John pushed himself upright despite the screaming ache in his back.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry."

"Please don't hate me."

"What would I-"

"I love you, Phil."

John sat on his knees with his hands clasped nervously before him. He was blushing slightly and gazed imploringly at him. Phil took one look at those innocent brown eyes for a moment his exhaustion melted away. He held out his arms, and John climbed gratefully into his lap and curled up.

"I'm sorry I didn't remember you."

Phil just kissed him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Short chapter is short. More just wanted to move things along 'cos I had two parts for this fic and was having a bit of trouble linking them. So here we are XD**

**WOW, SUBTLE MUCH?**

**X**

Later that afternoon, Matt came up to find Phil and John asleep in their bed, arms wrapped tightly around one another. John had his head buried in Phil's chest, and clung to his lover like he was a drowning man reaching for a lifeboat. Phil too looked as though there had been some kind of trouble – there were now dark circles under his eyes, and even in sleep his features were drawn and fatigued. At least they were back together now, and resting.

Thudding footsteps from the hallways caught Matt's attention. His head whipped around, but there was no-one there. The footsteps got closer, camera through the doorway, but it seemed as if an invisible man were running towards them. John jerked awake immediately at the sound, causing Phil to stir also. Suddenly, a man pushed through what appeared to be a rip in the fabric of the air and came to a halt at the foot of the bed.

"Michael?" asked John softly.

The younger man nodded silently, and removed the fedora from his head, twisting the brim nervously between his hands. His eyes filled with tears and his lip began to tremble slightly. He bolted for John's side of the bed, slipped under the covers and curled up into his older brother's side, shaking madly.

"Michael," Phil reached over John and peeled away the blanket.

""Ph-phil..." Michael was unable to keep himself from crying - frightened sobs wracked his small frame. John looked utterly confused, but his dear brother was scared and so he did what he always did; gathered his up into his arms, despite having to push away the stabbing pains in his back.

"F-father's gone mad," sobbed Michael. John petted him lightly, whispering softly in that strange, lilting language they shared.


End file.
